


What's In A Name?

by ashtraythief



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jeff owns the word sweetheart, M/M, Schmoop, and that is just fact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 14:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14334342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtraythief/pseuds/ashtraythief
Summary: Jensen has a thing about pet names. He doesn’t like them. Never has. Until Jeff.





	What's In A Name?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryvanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/gifts).



> Written for spnspringfling for sometimesalways’ wonderful prompts. Many, many thanks to ilikaicalie for the wonderful beta work!

 

 

Jensen has a thing about pet names. He doesn’t like them. Never has.

Babe. Honey. Darling.

He’s used to them from family and tolerates them from motherly waitresses in diners, but he’s never liked them from romantic partners. Has always shut them down.

Until Jeff.

 

When Jeff calls him _sweetheart_ in that rough dark baritone of his, Jensen melts. Something warm and comforting spreads through him, makes him loose-limbed and content.

When Jeff’s voice is nothing more than a low rumble, _Hey sweetheart, how was your day_? it wraps around Jensen like a warm blanket, protection and home.

When Jeff’s voice gets gravelly rough, _yeah,_ _sweetheart_ , it stokes a slow burn in Jensen; makes him hard in two seconds flat; makes him want to crawl into Jeff’s lap and ride him until Jeff can’t string two words together anymore.

Jensen doesn't realize how much hearing that simple word means.

Until he doesn't.

 

When they first met, Jeff had leaned toward him at the bar of the Republic’s biggest space station and said, _Hey sweetheart, can I buy you a drink?_ Jensen had been enchanted by Jeff's voice, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth, and the casual set of his broad shoulders.

But Jeff wore the stripes of a general— _General Morgan,_ he said in a self-deprecating voice _, but enough about me, what brings you out here?_ —and Jensen was a scientist assigned to deep space explorer ships. He'd taken Jeff up on his offer and expected nothing more than a night of fun. But one night had turned into two, into three, four, five, thirty-six nights until Jensen's next ship left.

He'd expected that to be the end of it. Jeff had never struck him as someone who waited, certainly not pined—but he'd contacted him, sent voice messages and even the occasional picture until they finally managed to get a few hours off at the same time and talk.

They talked and talked, and when Jensen got back, they didn't meet at the bar. Jeff collected him at the hangar and led Jensen straight to his suite.

Jensen knew they'd have to do a lot of long distance. There was no way he’d give up his job, and Jeff never asked that of him. He just asked Jensen to come back. And Jensen did. Every time.

It shouldn’t have been easy, but it was. Jensen went on long missions, deep into unknown space, and catalogued planets, their water resources, their minerals. Jeff stayed on the main base and lectured new recruits on military strategy. Jeff only had to theoretically engage in his field anymore, because there was peace in the galaxy.

Until there wasn’t.

 

When the Empire declared war, the leadership called for General Morgan. And Jeff went.

Jensen swallowed his anger and his worries and kissed Jeff goodbye like he always did. Only this time it was Jensen who stayed behind and Jeff who left.

“Don't worry, sweetheart,” Jeff had said, low and soft. “I’ll come back to you.”

Jensen listened to the sincere promise in his voice and wanted to believe him.

They still sent voice messages, even managed the occasional video call. When they both had enough time, Jeff’s voice would get low and dirty, and Jensen helplessly came all over his own hand. And then Jensen had to leave again. They needed more resources for the war; Jensen had to go to the mining planets and develop new deposits.

Jeff didn’t get any leave, and the war dragged on. The Empire attacked on many fronts and the war drew out longer and longer.

Jeff’s calls got rarer and shorter—when they spoke, he was trying to hide the tired set of his shoulders, the lines of worry on his forehead.

His voice was the last to give him away. _Sweetheart_ was strained, weighed down by longing and worry.

And then communication stopped.

 

No one sends news out to the fringe planet where Jensen is stationed to find new stores of the rare Infinitium that powers their most powerful weapons.

With no idea what has happened to Jeff, Jensen throws himself in his work. At night when their station is quiet and lit only by the eerie dark blue glow of the emergency lights, he listens to Jeff’s old messages and lets his soft drawl lull him to sleep.

Then they’re called back to base with the news of surprising victory. A stroke of genius, a risky maneuver, cooked up and undertaken by General Morgan under great personal risk has swayed the war and the Empire draws back.

Jensen asks Captain Berry if there’s any way they could get home faster. She nods curtly and orders their pilot Kane to hit it.

When Jensen gets back to the station, General Rhodes and General Beaver are there to greet him.

“Where is he?”

General Beaver sighs. His beard is greyer than when Jensen left and his eyes are weary. He can’t look Jensen in the eyes.

“Jensen,” General Rhodes says softly. She’s a no-nonsense woman and there’s something in her tone that makes him fear the worst.

“He’s alive,” she says and Jensen doesn’t understand why she looks at him with pity. “But his ship took heavy fire and he sustained a serious head injury.”

“What?”

“He’s lost his memory,” Beaver says gruffly. “Doesn’t remember any of us.”

Beaver’s eyes are heavy. He was Jeff’s mentor. But Jensen has no time to dwell on his sadness; he’s already in motion, his legs carrying him automatically towards the hospital floor.

Jeff is in a single room and the nurse lets Jensen in without question.

Jeff’s sitting in his bed, reading something on a tablet. His beard is nothing but stubble—he’d shaved it when he’d reported to the front. Apart from that, he looks exactly the same. When he looks up at Jensen, his eyes light up exactly the way Jensen remembers.

Relief washes through him. Of course Jeff would remember him—

“Hey Jensen.”

Jensen freezes, feels like a bucket of ice water has been emptied over his head.

Jeff smiles sheepishly—familiarly—and says, “They told me about you. General Beaver showed me a picture. I’m sorry that I don’t remember you. But I’m very excited to meet the man I was apparently head over heels for.”

Jensen forces himself to smile. It’s not Jeff’s fault he doesn’t know that he’s never called Jensen by his given name before.

 

Jensen has a thing about pet names. He doesn’t like them. Never thought he would.

Until he did.

Now, it’s his own name that he starts to loathe.

“Hey Jensen, good to see you today.”

Jensen balls his hands to fists and smiles. ( _Hey sweetheart. Always a sight for sore eyes_.)

“Jensen, do you have any pictures of places we visited? Doctor Collins thought that might help.”

Jensen swallows around the lump in his throat and digs out the pictures from the few trips they took together. ( _Come on, sweetheart, just one picture. When I’m old and wrinkly in the military retirement home I want to show off the hot guy I roped in when I was younger._ )

“Jensen, do you want to have dinner tonight?”

Jensen nods quickly to get the sting out of his eyes and says, “Of course.” ( _What do you think about the garden restaurant tonight, sweetheart? The lilac bushes are dense enough that we can have our own, private dessert_.)

“What did I do to deserve such a wonderful man?”

Jensen leans in to kiss Jeff so he’ll stop talking. ( _Sweetheart, during the Outer Rim Wars, I almost died three times, I did a whole year of physical therapy to get back on my feet and every one of those pain-filled days to get me back to work was worth it. And not because I love lecturing fresh-faced cadets so much, but because I got to meet you._ )

 

“Jensen, can I talk to you?”

Jensen gives himself a moment to close his eyes, then he sits down with Jeff in the hospital wing’s common room. ( _I think I need to get new furniture, sweetheart. The two of us don’t fit on this couch._ )

Jeff is uncommonly hesitant today, but maybe he’s finally catching on to what this is costing Jensen. How tense things are between them.

“Doctor Collins is out of ideas, medically speaking. He proposed more memory jostling.”

Jensen raises his eyebrows in doubt. “We talked to everyone you know who’s still alive. I showed you all our pictures, told you everything. Short of flying out to your homeplanet, I don’t know how else we could jostle your memory.”

“Well, Doctor Collins meant the jostling part literally.”

Jensen’s mouth opens, then closes.

“Well,” he says, “it was a pretty big part of our relationship.”

“Only if you want to. I mean, I understand that this must be incredibly hard for you too.”

Jensen thinks about it but there’s nothing else. He stands and takes Jeff’s hand. “Just one thing. Don’t call me Jensen.”

Jeff looks at him curiously. “What should I call you then?”

Jensen shrugs, goes for casual. “Anything else. You always had a thing for pet names.”

 

Jeff kisses him, perfectly wet and deep, and calls him _sugar_. When he pushes inside, gets the angle right on the first try, hands with just the right amount of pressure on Jensen’s hips, he calls him _baby_.

Jeff’s body remembers, even if his mind doesn’t.

That night, they share a bed for the first time in months. When Jeff is asleep, his heart beating in its familiar rhythm under Jensen’s cheek, Jensen cries for the first time.

He lets the tears fall and makes a choice. It’s still Jeff. He doesn’t remember, but he cares for Jensen. Maybe not as intensely, lacking in the joy of surviving war and finding happiness but Jensen can live with that. It’s still Jeff.

 

He convinces himself he can do it for three weeks, then he moves out again. He can’t shut out what Jeff, the Jeff from before, his Jeff, would have said.

Just like his Jeff would have, this Jeff, the new Jeff, understands.

Jensen packs his bags and volunteers for the next deep space mission. He needs to get away, as far as he can.

He deletes all their old messages but he never forgets Jeff’s voice. He remembers all the ways he called him sweetheart, every intonation different for every mood, for every purpose: soft to calm him, teasing to cheer him up, deep and rough to turn him on, heavy with emotion to declare his love.

Jensen travels to the farthest corners of the universe and tries to forget.

He doesn’t.

 

He comes back after two years. The ship docks on the lower level of the space station. Jensen stands at the forefront of the ship and watches the people milling along below in the station. In the middle of the cargo hangar is a group of military personnel, Jeff among them.

His beard has grown back, maybe a bit more grey than pepper, and he stares up at Jensen. He stiffens and blinks, never takes his eyes off Jensen.

Jensen straightens his back and goes to disembark. He can be civil. He can say hello. He ignores the ache in his heart and walks off the ship.

 

Jeff’s standing close to the ship’s entrance, like he’s done countless times before when Jensen came back from a mission. Jeff’s eyes are fixed on him, and there’s something in them that Jensen can’t quite interpret.

“How many times have you come back like this before?” Jeff asks, in lieu of greeting.

“I can’t remember,” Jensen says, unwilling to discuss the life he had with his Jeff.

Jeff closes his eyes for a moment, then he opens them and smiles. “Seven.”

Jensen blanches. “What?”

“Seven times you left and came back before the war,” Jeff says, smile audible in his voice.

Jensen’s heart starts racing.

“I was always happy when you came back,” Jeff continues amicably, like this is nothing, like he’s not discussing the relationship his injury made him forget. “Of course I was happy to see you again, but it was more. You came back to me. You had the wonders of the universe laid out in front of you on a stainless steel research tray and yet you always came back to boring old me.”

The world is spinning, background noises blending together in one whirling, whooshing sound.

“You were never boring,” Jensen croaks out. This is not—he can’t— “What—”

Jeff’s smile cracks, harsh lines of pain etching into his face. “I don’t understand how I could ever forget.”

Jensen takes a step and raises his hand to Jeff’s face, then freezes. If this is not… He only sees Jeff, his eyes intently fixed on Jensen.

“Do you remember now?”

Jeff nods. “Is it too late?”

Jensen can’t move. He doesn’t know if this is real. How can this be real?

“When I saw you in the arriving ship,” Jeff huffs out a disbelieving breath, and his voice turns rough, “it all came back. I don’t know how I could ever forget, but I remember everything now, sweetheart.”

It’s home and comfort and love.

Jensen steps into Jeff’s space, takes his face into his hands, and kisses him. It’s familiar, so heartbreakingly familiar, and he loses himself in it: Jeff’s taste and smell; the way his beard softly scratches Jensen’s skin; the way his arms wrap around Jensen, one hand on his hip, one splayed between his shoulder blades; the feeling of his warm and dry lips; his tongue flicking out against Jensen’s mouth.

And in between every breath, in every little moment they have to pull back, Jeff whispers one word, the word that means I love you, I want you, I missed you, I’ll never leave you again.

_Sweetheart_


End file.
